


Curved Blades: Elearven’s Story

by TheHoodedFalcon



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Community: lotr_community, Death, F/M, Fate, Fellowship - Freeform, Graphic Violence, LOTR, Lothlórien, Love, Love/Hate, Middle Earth, Original Character Death(s), Rivendell, Temporary Character Death, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHoodedFalcon/pseuds/TheHoodedFalcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legalos didn't help her, he wasn't able to. 'As if in slow motion, they followed her figure flying from one spot to the next, dancing a frightening waltz for death. Quickly her eyes flashed to their motionless figures, "Run… get away from here fast."'  </p><p> </p><p>How did it happen; he had lost her. </p><p> </p><p>A group of three friends fall into Middle Earth to find out that everything really isn't what the movie says it is. Their whole lives are changing around them and it may well cause them to turn on each other... </p><p> </p><p>"Plagued by death and suffering, a once hated ally shall join in the most sacred of ways. Strength shall return in the union of houses and hands as war that once waged strikes… So hear me now, sons and daughters of the elves, men and hobbits, your beloved leader will return… but only in the time of dire need… there, light shall shine through the mists… Trust and rely upon the strength that forms with comradeship and all shall prevail. However, if thus bonds crumble then all shall fail."</p><p> </p><p>When the time comes for them to take up arms and fight for their survival, will they accept fate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Curved Blades: Elearven’s Story  
> Chapter: Preface  
> Chapter Name: Gold Tinted With Black  
> Setting: In a time of Lord of the Rings, approximately slightly before the making of the Fellowship and the battle for the White City.  
> Rating: Teenage Audience – contains death  
>    
> Description:  
> As if in slow motion, they followed her figure flying from one spot to the next, dancing a frightening waltz for death. Quickly her eyes flashed to their motionless figures, "Run… get away from here fast." Legalos didn't help her, he wasn't able to. How did it happen; he had lost her. (Work being currently revised and continued).
> 
>    
> Currently everything is undergoing adjustments and is being revamped. Ideas are welcome. 
> 
>    
> Important: This chapter will be written as a futuristic vision of what is to come; the next ones will take place before this. This is because the following ones act as a lead up this event.
> 
>    
> Translations from the Grey Company:  
> Pronunciation:  
> Elearven … Ell – Ear - Vern
> 
>    
> Disclaimer: I do not own ‘Lord of the Rings’ by Tolkien nor any of the associated characters. I do, however, hold ownership and rights over any non-Tolkien characters, plots, settings and complications.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy...

Deepest dark, merest light  
From the one and the same awakening  
Cunning was the plan of Morgoth  
Those foolish did all the work  
He came and culled the harvest  
Bred the fruits for his purpose  
Unaware folk of the stars  
Forced into wounds and dreadful scars  
To raid the lands under his summons  
Destroy the race that they once were…  
~ ‘Battlelore’, a tale of the origin of Orcs

 

. . .

 

Elearven's bow snapped back by the force of the arrow, its silver tip heading straight into the back of a neighbouring Orc. A perfect shot; the creature fell forward, its blood mixing with the dirt and staining the earth black. But there was no recovery for the young female, more and more Orc’s had started pouring in from the sides. The air filled with the scent of sweat, blood and death; twirling around she stuck her blade into the chest of another… There was no room to move.

 

Off to the side watching, two hobbits, their wrists chaffed by broken ropes lay frozen at the scene before them. Both too terrified to move, all joints of theirs had seized up. Expressions of horror crowned their faces as they watch one of the most beautiful of elves fighting, fighting for their lives. 

 

Blood drenched her body, a mix of black and silver and her bow sang its own deathly song. As if in slow motion, they followed her figure flying from one spot to the next, dancing a frightening waltz for death. Quickly her eyes flashed to their motionless figures, "Run… get away from here fast. You have your chance now so don't miss it…"

 

Perspiration dripped from her brow, tracing her soft features. Pieces of ebony hair clung to her face and boots stood upon the bodies of the ones she had killed. Eyes, flashing of gold and weariness watched as both little men blinked in recognition. There wasn't much time left and their gap to escape was quickly closing, they needed to move faster. "Hurry, now little ones, fly quickly. Into the forest my friends and hide; do not wait for me for I know that I shall not join you."

 

Panting in between breathes, she sighed in relief as they scrambled to their feet. "What do you mean?" Pippin questioned over the loud scramble of feet and clashes of swords. Slowly he took a small step towards the throngs of danger; as he did one of the fighting Orcs glanced and came hither to him. Fear blossomed across Pippin’s features as he scrambled back in hope of reaching the forest.

 

Raising its gnarled hand, a dagger gleamed in the dusky moonlight. Pippins eyes widened with fright for what was about to happen, he wouldn't get away fast enough. Somewhere behind the Orc, a shout could barely be heard. It seemed as if the whole world had slowed down, erasing all sounds of fighting and images of his surroundings. The knife leered upward, the crude blade blinking with specks of blackened blood, both old and new. This creature was accustomed to killing. 

 

A high pitched wailing sounded somewhere too Pippins right as the knife made its downward fall. But, hands suddenly grabbed his under the arms dragging him out of reach and into the forests edge. Merry had found him again. Both hobbits watched as the dagger made contact with the ground, the same place only milliseconds ago Pippin had lain. Quickly, the face of the Orc contorted from its cruel smirk to a grimace of pain as its lifeless body fell forward, one of Elearven's arrows embedded into his back.

 

Once again, the hobbits gaze slammed up to where their female elven friend was fighting. Arrows sashayed from her bow and curved daggers flashed in between slashes; surrounding her, fifty or more so Orcs screamed at the chance to down the graceful, deadly warrior. The hobbits last glance of her before hightailing off into the trunks of Fanghorn Forest was of one where serene peace, her fates acceptance cut across her face. They knew she had made her decision, she would stay allowing them time to live.

 

No one could stop her, she fought for their lives; no one could kill her yet, too many of her friends had already died tonight. Elearven knew the price she would pay for Merry and Pippin’s freedom, a price she would all too willingly pay for them. 

 

“Aragon… Merry, Pipping, Gimly, Gandalf… Legalos, please forgive me…” She whispered, her breath coming out in harsh gasps. Too many wounds she had suffered would prevent her from living; the Valar would welcome her into their halls.

 

Bodies littered the surrounding ground as she dropped both bow and sword at her feet. Everything felt cold; only elves with the taste of death on their tongue could feel it. Tears streaked down her face and Eleaven’s knees gave way. Crumpling to the ground, she lay upon the soiled ground, her golden blood mingling with her enemies. 

 

“I am sorry…”

 

. . .

 

“I am sorry…” 

 

Eleaven’s last words carried on the wind to the small party chasing the once living hoard of Orcs. Shock graced down all three spines before reality set in. “No…” Legalos’ words whispered past pale lips. “No, no, no, no… No!” he screamed to the rocky hill tops. 

 

Shudders of horror rolled through the Dwarf Master Gimli and shock froze all the limbs of Aragon, Strider and King of Man. Though none so affected as was Legalos, Prince and Future King of Mirkwood.

 

“She cannot be lad, she cannot be. There is no way of knowing…” Gimli muttered more to himself them the others. ”We… we have to hurry and see, hurry. She cannot be…” 

 

His voice drifted off in the wind as the party was left standing there, unsure of what to do.

 

. . .

 

“I am sorry…” 

 

Two hobbits cuddled closer together in the branches of an old tree as their tears streaked down dirty faces. Each holding the others hand for comfort and support, grief holding the fear of the outside forest at bay.

 

The woods creaked and groaned around them whilst the wind whistled through the trees crumples branches above. “I am sorry…” “I am sorry…”

 

Everyone wept; this was not meant to happen.

 

“I am sorry…”


	2. Chapter One: The First of the Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Curved Blades: Elearven’s Story  
> Chapter: One  
> Chapter Name: The First of the Unknown  
> Setting: In a time of Lord of the Rings, approximately slightly before the making of the Fellowship and the battle for the White City.  
> Rating: Teenage Audience +
> 
>  
> 
> Currently everything is undergoing adjustments and is being revamped. Ideas are welcome. 
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter may add some confusion to the story but is all important to the development of characters, their personalities and my personal story-line which I have created in my own twisted mind.

Previously: 

 

Two hobbits cuddled closer together in the branches of an old tree as their tears streaked down dirty faces. Each holding the others hand for comfort and support, grief holding the fear of the outside forest at bay.

 

The woods creaked and groaned around them whilst the wind whistled through the trees crumples branches above. “I am sorry…” “I am sorry…”

 

Everyone wept; this was not meant to happen.

 

“I am sorry…”

 

. . .

 

 

1-2 Months Earlier.

 

. . .

 

 

Saruman the White Wizard stood upon the tall towers of Isengard, his harsh gaze looked out upon the levels of Orc and Uruc-hai preparing for battle. Smoke rose from pits far beneath the ground and thunder and lightning streaked across the sky. Across the gouges, slopes of blackened soil and burnt, slashed stumps of trees stood out from the bleak landscape. The once lush forest had been reduced to nothing but ash and wood clippings. Behind him, the sun set flashed like molten lava.

 

Below, the crude grunting of the Orcs and clash of iron swords being constructed could be heard throughout the keep, far past the edges of Fanghorn forest. There were no bird calls, no breath of life, only the whistle of an empty wind. Blackened cliffs and dark sky's; he had come up here for a reason, not for distractions. 

 

"It is time," his voice rose from thoughts to words. "Through fire and ash, through time and space I call upon the ones with knowledge of the outside. From one world to another I draw back those that were once stolen. Come, reappear to me."

 

Clouds began to swirl around the turrets as Saruman lifted his hands, raising his staff upwards. Crows reeled away, their black wings slashing through the air in their rush to fly. All life in the surround area miles wide ceased, their activities halted without understanding. It was as if people, elf, animals and Orc alike could feel the tremor of power flowing through the air. 

 

Energy flitted from each of his finger’s tips as his eyes clouded over by the darkness. “In the name of the corrupted, the sane, the meek and the strong I call thee into our time. Insight me of the outcome, enlighten me of the future and teach us of the conquering knowledge.”

 

Spears of black magic flashed from his staff into the whirl wind of clouds. Tremors shook the ground, rippling the fires below and speeding into Fanghorn. “I call upon thee three whose ancestors were once torn from this world.” Saruman’s voice grew deep as he grasped the staff with both hands. “These three, I call upon you; knowledge you carry may come of help in our struggling world. Drawn to me, deliver them here and let them become who they were once meant to be.”

 

Before the tainted white wizards staff was brought down, his last words echoed out across the mountains, deep and gruff with effort. “I call upon you… Snatch them, magic ensnare, bring them into our world’s troubles. I call upon them… bring them to me.”

 

Me… me… me… The clouds dove down onto the tower as blasts of pure energy rocked the foundations. Darkness caved in upon itself before imploding outwards. The tainted wizard fell to his knees, energy drained; where were they? Why had the summoning not worked?

 

Anger submerged his senses as he hauled himself to his feet through sheer will. 

 

Emerging from the shadows, a beast untangled himself from the darkness. Stepping into the moonlight, the dimness did nothing to hide the hideousness of his form. Distorted flesh littered its body as blood stained knives hung from worn leather belts; and carefully, it made its way over to his masters swaying form.

 

“Find them,” the wizard’s voice whispered. “I can feel that they are here… Somewhere. Find them and bring them to me and you shall be named captain; fail to do so you shall be incinerated, the flesh torn from your bones, your head mounted on a pike and your innards sliced from you alive.” Saruman’s gaze snapped to his servant. “Bring them to me breathing and unharmed or suffer, do you understand?”

 

The beast grunted, bowing in a short stocky movement it hurrying away. The effort from the spell had finally started to tax the tainted wizard as his knee’s buckled beneath him. “What have I done?” His voice trailed off before bleak unconsciousness claimed him, his head slumping forward to hit the cold stone floor. But just as that small worm of doubt burrowed its way into his head, it was pushed back far into the subconsciousness. As fast as it had come it was gone, joining the many others that inhabited the saner part of his mind.

 

 

. . .

 

 

Present

 

. . .

 

 

Fir trees scratched at the arms of the small party of dwarves as they made their way through the forest. “I swear these damn elves taunt us with their swiftness, they must be circln’ the trees laughing at our every being.” One dwarf muttered to himself as he hefted his axe closer on his shoulder. The helmet he wore sat low on the forehead and his beard reached down to his belt. 

 

“You better watch yourselves you twinkled toed fellows for if I ever catch you I shall swipe the tips off your ears and dirty the pretty hair of yours.” Rolling his eyes, the dwarf lifted his head up.

 

“Calm your chatter Gimli,” ordered a companion to the ever grumpy warrior. “We are to come here on matters of great urgency, not to gossip away like old nindlebigs.”

 

Watch your mouth Rumin, for one day I might just cut out the talkative tongue of yours.” Gimli stopped to glare at his friend, no one ever told him what to do and it wasn't about to start happening now.

 

“How dare you…” Rumin started only to be halted by the cry of a scout. “My lords, come quick, I believe that I have found something of great importance!” The scout could not be seen but his voice rose clean from out among the trees. From what anyone could tell, it was laden with shock and concern. 

 

Both dwarf kin raced up to the scout, only to stop at the sight that lay before them. Nestled lightly upon the forest ferns lay a young human, she looked no older than her seventeenth year. Dressed in only a light jerkin and breeches, they could see the countless bruises and grazes that littered her skin. Gimli hastened to her side and shook her shoulder gently, “Lass, awake wee lass. The forest floor is no place to lie…”

 

Groaning slightly, her eyelids fluttered ever so slightly before opening all together. Raising a hand to her temple, she slowly sat up with the help of the party of travelers. “Where… Where am I? How did I get here?” She croaked.

 

“Your name my Lady, what is your name?” exclaimed Rumin as he knelt down on her other side, completely ignoring her query. Carefully, he placed a hand upon her brow; the skin was flushed with a slight fever.

 

“Emma, I am called Emma,” came her weak reply before collapsing back down again on the moss.

 

Both dwarves looked up at each other before glancing back again to her unconscious face. To find a strange human injured in the middle of a forest was never a good omen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with this story-line and beginning chapter three years ago and though it is undergoing much improvement, I thought that I might share it with other writers/authors. Enjoy chapter One…
> 
> Wanderer, The Hooded Falcon

**Author's Note:**

> Well this is the preview/preface of my oncoming story, everything has been rewritten now and the whole story will continue to be updated.  
> Regards,
> 
>  
> 
> Wanderer, The Hooded Falcon


End file.
